Hallelujah
by RyokoJesse
Summary: Naruto defeats Sasuke and returns him to Konoha as a prisoner. Naruto's POV, SasuNaruSasu friendship/shounen-ai, strong language. Loosely based around the song by Leonard Cohen.


Pre-Itachi and Madara, as if Sasuke killed Itachi and things were as he'd thought they were.

"_The price of the memory is the memory of the sorrow it brings." - Counting Crows_

---

I've been trying for years to bring him back. Years. I don't think you understand how fucked over I feel, and how much I care for him. I've been spending all of my thought and heart and strength on him for years.

Now, when I stand in front of him, somewhere in the Land of Rice Fields, what he calls _Otogakure_, I feel how much he really doesn't give a shit about what I've done for him. I suppose, after all these years, it's just become instinct…but I close my eyes to reign in my anger, turning it into even more caring. Some time along the way, I hit that point, you know, where it is too difficult to keep being angry and all I can do is care so hard it becomes violent.

To him, it all looks like the same thing. Doesn't it? He doesn't think I have my head on straight. He doesn't understand why I would care. Doesn't want to understand.

Every time I remind him why he should get it, he pushes away.

He ignores me so hard it becomes violent.

And then all we have is this fighting, in and out and back and forth and struggling for some kind of punch or move or strike or even jutsu that would make the other listen; that would make the other man just shut the fuck up and let go of whatever it is they're trying to hold on to.

I have always thrown my fist at Sasuke with the intent of meeting his fist.

I have never thrown my fist with the intent of killing him.

Today, I swing with the intent of killing his determination.

Does that even make sense: to hit his body to break his mental barriers? Maybe if I hit hard enough he'll be so weak he'll _have_ to give in. It won't matter. It will change everything.

Everything will change.

Our fists are like webs of light and movement. Our signs and tricks and personal advantages. Steps closer, steps backward, one thrown down, the other uppercutted. It feels like the Valley of the End and it feels like a climax, like pleasure and release and finally duking it out on equal grounds, no holding back, no control. I scream as loud as I can because he's starting to raise his voice too, and that feels _good_.

He's pissed now, almost as lost and wild and pissed as I get around him, so he makes a swing at my left side and pulls his right foot along with it, sliding the momentum up to my forehead. As he slides by I grab his arm, and I am surprised his sharingan doesn't catch it – perhaps he was distracted by the pile of clones following him up, or his mind was back with the ones he just kicked into the nearby pines, or his chakra was running low from that weird-ass snake summoning jutsu he must have performed only minutes ago.

Either way, I can see the hitch of his breath in the muscles of his stomach under his _gi_ when I grab that arm and catch the leg with my other hand, leaning back to avoid the impact and riding with it, twisting my body over his and feeling for the first time how high above the ground we are. I don't feel fear, I feel adrenaline. A clone comes up behind me as we fall through branches and towards the grass. I hold out my palm and it prepares rasengan. I am excited, I am tingling, my breath is hardly working – my stomach is in my throat as gravity shoves us into its earth and the ball of chakra makes its way into the chest of my very best friend.

And fuck, it's glorious. I want to cry. I want to scream. It hurts, but in a way that feels so good again – it all just keeps feeling better. The blood is everywhere, bright and pin-wheeled on my skin and his skin. It contrasts on the grass and Sakura has shown up. There are bits on her cheeks and in her hair.

I'm straddling him, staring at the damage, still wondering at the parallel. Hadn't he done this to me before? Once before? Was this how it had felt for him? I am breathing irregularly, and his eyes hold more emotion that I have seen in them since we were in the Academy.

I smile, sad and happy and so relieved.

I hug his limp form to me, and he coughs up blood into the crook of my neck. I feel the red saliva drip down the collar of my coat, stinging in a shoulder wound.

Sakura runs up and examines the damage, begins healing immediately. Some vague wash of guilt shifts under the surface. I know it will be overwhelming if I face it, but here he is in my arms without fighting, not struggling, too battered to struggle. He _must_ be listening now.

The air glows green.

---

Back in _Konoha_, he is a prisoner. His clothing is burned upon our arrival. The ANBU are rough with him, peeling off the clothing and binding his arms, closing the points of his chakra circulatory system, re-wrapping him in prison garb. I hold back my instinct to shove them away. Sakura holds me still. He hates us, I think, for watching. But I don't know how we could leave. The minute he was near me I didn't want to tear my eyes away again. What if, when I wasn't looking, he escaped? Sakura's fingers make my arms ache, they hold so tight.

He won't look at us.

---

It's months and months later – we're given visiting rights. Even I had to wait. Especially me. I go alone, the first time, and find him quiet and bound in the cell, in simple off-white, stained clothes. The pants are too short on him, and his feet are bare. There is a wooden stool in the right corner, next to a bedpan, and a cot beneath him with one small pillow and blanket. The room is far more than they give people like him, but it's still meager.

"I'm sorry I haven't come. This is the first I've been allowed to visit."

He doesn't respond. I can sense all the feelings buzzing in my head, thick and muddling. I don't know what to say, and I have nothing to say. I wonder if he wonders how they kept me out when I wanted so badly to see him. The Naruto he knows would force through as soon as possible, but the Naruto I am now knows legalities and precautionary procedures and, most of all, the value of patience.

That doesn't mean I didn't want to break right through the walls every minute of every day since we brought him back.

"They said it's time for you to wash. I said I'd supervise."

I am holding two towels and two washrags. He stands and I turn, open the door, and we walk down the hallway to the right, down stairs to a dingy bath. There are rows of stools and hand-held shower heads. The floor is wet and a bar of soap is on the floor. Hair clogs the drains.

I watch as Sasuke sits on a stool and gives the wall the same eyes he has given me for years.

I find a dry place across the room and undress. I leave my father's cloak, my turtleneck, pants, shoes, tape, empty kunai holster, gloves on the ground in a heap. I hesitate – then gently remove Tsunade's necklace and leave in on top of the pile.

When I walk back to the stool next to him he is still still, still clothed.

I walk closer and tentatively touch his shoulder. I remind myself he isn't deadly, that in a fight right now I would easily overpower him, but instead of relief I feel something like shame.

"Sasuke…" The name feels like a question but doesn't sound like one.

He says nothing and I concentrate the wind to cut apart his chains. He seems like some foreign Sasuke, paler than I remember, an apparition. I mentally touch the reality of the moment, test my mind's perception, make myself aware my own existence. I inhale the mold smell in the room and allow a chill to run up my bare back. This is real. This is real. This is real.

He raises his arms and reaches under the hem of the thin shirt, pulling it over his head and off. His posture is strong despite what I expect, but I can easily see he hasn't trained in months – the muscles in his stomach and arms have faded under softer flesh. He stands mechanically, keeping eye contact with the wall, and tucks his thumbs under the waistband of his pants. They come down easily, and he is bare before me like we are brothers again. I feel thoughts go through my head, remarks Sai and I have exchanged that I could have exchanged with him, and turn away. The cold underground air tightens my skin into tiny goosebumps.

I grab a bar of soap and stool, noisily drag it near my shower faucet, and turn on the water. It is cold of course, but the soap lathers easily and the rag I brought is soft. I think of the hokage's bath with its large American-style tub, hot water, and scented bubbles. I find it easily preferable to be cold with him. even a silent him.

I watch his figure in my peripheral vision as I scrub my hair. Back and forth to his still figure as I run the washcloth over my face, chest, arms, stomach, balls, legs, feet. He doesn't move. I rinse with my eyes closed and tension behind my ribs. He doesn't move. I turn my water off, wrap the large, soft towel I am used to around my waist. He doesn't move, and I come to a decision.

I kneel in front of him, pleading, looking up at that heavy face. I am overcome with the realization that I look foolish and desperate. He stands for me and I stand with him. I am flustered and wonder if he understands what I intend or if he is going to disappear while I turn around to grab his still-dry washcloth. He is there when I turn back around. I taste the reality again in wonder.

My hand turns on the water without my command and he doesn't flinch when the chilled water hits the top of his head. The prison clothes soak on the floor. I lather the cloth, rub his shoulder, move over his arms, chest, and legs until he is fully clean. He doesn't object, just stands utterly still. I thank what god there may be, again, that he never succumbed to Orochimaru. At least the man I''m trying to save still resembles the boy I grew up with. Under the dirt, he is less of a phantom and more of my friend.

God, is he really here? Are these _his_ feet planted on Konoha land, _his_ skin is under my hands? Finally, his eyes respond.

He _looks_ at me.

I receive a sensation of smallness from that gaze. It is a wave of what I felt as a child, that I am insignificant; and yet, when from Sasuke, the fact that he's looking at all somehow makes me feel _more_ significant, too. The duality of my emotion makes me shudder. I realize I am utterly thwarted by him. I realize that, as the hokage, I have failed because he is the one thing from which I could never protect Konoha. I don't dare to predict my actions were it just me between him and the village. I am terrified by this, and cling desperately and guiltily to the seals on his chakra.

But he is alive, God, he is _alive_! And that makes all the difference. I think that somehow, after the convolutions of my completely unhealthy relationship with Sasuke, I have developed a sense of hope with no enemy other than his death. I could believe in the feelings of happiness I used to have, that sense of utter perfect that I just can't seem to draw on, not completely, not anymore...I could believe that _that_ is possible again if only he stays alive. And here he is. The temptation to remember for real becomes thick on my tongue until it rolls into words.

"I missed you, teme."

I wrap the towel around his waist and tuck it into place again. He is a statue. I remember how the old ones with perfect limbs (perfect strength, perfect symmetrical features) have no eyes, only smooth curves of white marble.

His body's resemblance dissolves his irises.

_--- _

I bring him back to my house. It has been another month since the day I washed him, and the ANBU are only allowing my wishes granted out of obedience. They are frightened for me, and I know there is a lot to be frightened of. But it's Sasuke. And though perhaps I am delusional, have been delusional, will always be delusional, I feel safe with Sasuke. Always have, always will.

When we walk in the door I feel awkward. It's been a while since I lived here, but not too long. The wooden paneling on the floor is familiar. The plants, the shelves, the little table, the old refrigerator in the kitchen, the couch, my balcony – I thought they would all be familiar to him, maybe calming. Maybe living with me would be less like being a prisoner and more like being a partner, a roommate.

I take him to my bedroom, give him my set of blue pajamas because I know he hates orange. I tell him he can take my bed tonight, that his back will need it after...I cant finish my sentence and awkwardly rub my neck. He looks at me for a long time and, though there is no question in his eyes, I assume his meaning.

I smile with barely-disguised worry in my eyes. "Don't worry about me, I have a bedroll."

But after saying it I feel stupid. Of course he doesn't care about my sleeping arrangements. He wants me dead. That's what they're all saying. He wants _me_ in that dank cell because _I_ brought him here, cut off his ability to fight, made him a part of the village he loathes for holding him back. Why would he have any concern for -

"Thank you"

He goes to my bed, gets in, and rolls onto his left shoulder, facing the wall.

My heart sort of stops. I think vaguely that they call it "skipping a beat" but I am also acutely aware that this situation doesn't fit the phrase. I watch as his shoulders rise and fall infinitesimally and my blankets curve around him. I feel a chill at the image of him in my bed: something I may have thought of before, may have dreamed of only when I was most indulgent...

Taking a deep breath, I reach under my bed and pull out my bedroll, set up a makeshift mattress. I carefully turn toward my dresser and change into my own set of pajamas. It is silly. This night now seems more pivotal than any other night I've slept by Sasuke. I have always given him my all: heart, mind, body – my home is no different – to my teammate. But, of all those years I gave and gave and gave, he never received. Getting in my bed doesn't seem to fit his actions for the past month: his stony gaze, his lack of words. Hell, it doesn't fit the Sasuke I grew up with! And tonight he spoke to me. Words of gratitude, even. It's some sort of acceptance in my mind, as if he has finally allowed me to give something. As if he has finally _received_.

I smile through the nerves. I might be getting ahead of myself, but that is what I do when it comes to Sasuke. The bastard doesn't really give me another option.

---

I didn't sleep the entire night. I don't think, before that, I'd ever stayed awake all night, but I found myself terrified of taking my eyes off of him. After maybe two hours of lying in bed, nervously sitting up and checking he was still there, and lying down again, I got up and silently paced my room. I was itchy, anxious, and frustrated. I wanted to run in the woods around Konoha, train, _something_, but every time I could hardly ave my bedroom, let alone my apartment. I eventually abandoned my pride and resolved to sitting against the wall, watching him sleep like a baby. The bastard always slept so still, I didn't understand it. He was curled toward me, and I decided if he opened his eyes and asked why I was being so creepy, I could just blame it on him. It was his fault I was like this.

At some point I'd gotten uncomfortable and, after a few solid hours of no disappearing acts, I took to making breakfast. Sakura always tells me not to eat _ramen_ first thing in the morning, and bought me what she calls a "griddle" (goridaru?) for my last birthday, so I used the time I usually lost sleeping in to make pancakes. In between flips, I peeked into the bedroom, and as time went on I peeked less and less until I heard the bathroom door open and close gently.

Every hair on my body stood up.

I am so pathetic.

I sneak down the hallway, look into my bedroom, and find my bed neatly made, empty. It is surreal, and I remember the terror I'd felt last night, the reason I couldn't fall asleep, the thought that he might not be there when I woke up. If he'd tried to leave for real, I wondered, would he still have made the bed? I could always count on Sasuke to be entirely anal in a time of tension. Had I imagined the sound of the bathroom door?

But a few moments later I hear the toilet flushing, the sink water running, and then the shower running. Despite myself, I blush. Fuck. He thinks he can just use my things however he likes, doesn't he? Just piss where I piss, wash where I wash, towel dry with my towel..._Isn't he going to ask?_

But despite myself, somehow, I feel like maybe this means he's comfortable here.

And I like that.

I set out clothes for him, a black shirt with jeans, and, awkwardly, a pair of my underwear. By the time he's dressed and into the kitchen I am just finishing setting the table and flipping the last pancake.

Sasuke enters the room in my clothes, sits in my chair, and looks at me expectantly. I turn off the contraption that has burned me three times already this morning and hastily drag over a box from under the sink to join him at the table. _I really need to get another chair... _

The table is too thin to allow two plates across from one another, really, but we manage.

He eats very precisely, cuts small pieces, one bit at a time, chewing thoroughly. I watch him for a minute and allow my head to adjust. I don't really know what to do with myself. It is entirely absurd. _Sasuke_ is in my _kitchen_. He doesn't look at me and the silence is deafening. I break it by serving myself from the heaping plate I'd made and apply liberal amounts of butter and syrup. I raise an eyebrow at his bare, neatly sliced food.

"Did you want anything on that?" I ask. It seems a very plain breakfast. I know I don't have much, but...

"I hate sweets."

I'd forgotten. "Oh."

I wait. He continues eating.

"What _do_ you like?"

His gaze shifts my way and perhaps I imagine it, but my face feels warm. I think he is deciding to tell me.

The feel of his eyes slides into something new.

"Natto. I love natto."

And I have the absurd feeling that he is making a joke, though the line somehow feels as if it's from a noir film instead of a comedy. He eats the last piece of his pancake and rolls his eyes.

It _was _a joke!

"Usu - "

I hear it under his breath, but he stops himself. Abruptly, he stands and I watch him take his plate around the table to the sink, drop it in, and walk back toward my bedroom. He is silent again and my stomach feels knotted, stuck as if still in anticipation of those familiar syllables I knew he was going to say:

_Usuratonkachi. _

So he hasn't forgotten.

Not everything.

Not yet.

---

I tried to use the layout of Naruto's actual apartment. The idea that there's just a bathroom, a kitchen, and a bedroom made it interesting to have the two interact.

I feel as if this could be continued. Anyone else?


End file.
